


you came and i was longing for you

by andrewminyards



Series: buffskier prompt fics [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Boys Kissing, Buff Jaskier | Dandelion, Clothes swap, Flirty Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, M/M, Making Out, Thirsty Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, geralt is very smitten and jaskier is STRONK and LORGE, jaskier is hairy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25613602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrewminyards/pseuds/andrewminyards
Summary: Geralt turns around. “Jaskier, why -” He chokes on his own spit when he sees Jaskier before him, decked out in black leather, inGeralt'sarmour. “Unf.”The armour fits well. Very well. Unlike what Geralt had expected, the armour doesn’t hang loosely off Jaskier’s body but hugs it perfectly, drawing Geralt’s eyes to the wide expanse of Jaskier’s shoulders and the thickness of his biceps. Geralt’s trousers are pulled taut over Jaskier’s thighs, the strength in them clearly visible through the tight fabric.“It seems that our clothes fit each other quite well," Jaskier purrs, prowling towards him, and Geralt has to swallow down an involuntary gulp. Gods preserve him. "Extremely well.”*Geralt and Jaskier swap clothes. Geralt hadnotexpected Jaskier to be quite so buff under those colourful doublets, and he's extremely smitten, unable to take his eyes off Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: buffskier prompt fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854802
Comments: 62
Kudos: 469





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> posting this in a separate work because it has 2 parts!
> 
> this is for anon's prompt:  
> ['for buffskier, for some reason jaskier has to wear geralt’s armour (this is like @spielzeugkaiser’s art) and geralt realises that his armour fits jaskier extremely well. and also jaskier can lift his (rather heavy) sword and can also fight with it'](https://jaskicr.tumblr.com/post/624912207343452160/for-buffskier-for-some-reason-jaskier-has-to-wear)

“No, no,” Jaskier says frantically. “That village - it’s not a good idea. Let’s find another place to get a contract.”

Geralt frowns. “Why not? There’s a well-paying contract there.”

"Trust me, it’s better if we find another one,” Jaskier insists. 

“There are no other villages that are within a day’s ride,” Geralt points out, annoyed. Why is Jaskier being so adamant?

Jaskier sighs, pinching his nose. “I’ve been there, okay? They weren’t very - receptive towards my songs. They _loathe_ you.”

“That’s not news,” Geralt comments dryly.

“You don’t get it, Geralt.” Jaskier rakes a hand through his hair, frustrated. “The Blaviken thing - they’re really, _really_ set on that.”

“We need to stock up on supplies, and we’re basically out of coin,” Geralt grumbles. They could camp for the night, but it really wouldn’t be ideal. Besides, Geralt is used to the boundless hate thrown at him for Blaviken. This will just be another hateful town, and he can handle it. “I need to take the contract, Jaskier.”

Jaskier throws his hands up with another loud sigh. “Geralt -”

“I’m used to it.” It’s the truth, but familiar anger ignites in Jaskier’s eyes at the thought of the injustice directed towards Geralt, and it warms Geralt to see Jaskier so protective of him, even if it isn’t anything either of them can change.

“They truly hate you, Geralt, and I don’t want you to be subjected to that.” Jaskier’s voice is concerned, _worried_. “If only we could…” his voice trails off, and he murmurs, “ _oh_.”

“What?” Geralt asks warily. There’s a glint in Jaskier’s eyes that Geralt has come to recognise as Jaskier having one of his _ideas_ , ideas that usually end in disaster.

“What if...” Jaskier pauses, grinning, which does _not_ bode well. “Gods, I’m a genius. They’ve never seen you, so they don’t know what you look like.”

“... And?”

“Well, they’re expecting the Butcher of Blaviken to be a white-haired, golden-eyed witcher with big fuck-off swords and a surly demeanour,” Jaskier rambles, eyes brightening. “But if we swap clothes, and I pretend to be a witcher and you can pretend to be a bard, then they won’t suspect anything!”

“That’s...” _stupid_ , Geralt wants to say, but as crazy as Jaskier’s idea sounds, Geralt _needs_ to take the contract, and as much as he hates to admit it, Jaskier’s idea is likely their best shot. Gods, is he really going to go along with one of Jaskier’s harebrained schemes? 

“It’s genius, isn’t it?” Jaskier says with a proud smile on his face, looking expectantly at Geralt. “We can waltz into town, me as a witcher and you as a bard, take the contract, you can slay the monster, then I can collect the payment, pretending to have killed the monster. It’s perfect!”

Jaskier’s idea is one of his better ones, though Geralt is still dubious about pulling it off. “Our clothes won’t fit each other.”

“Oh, trust me,” Jaskier reassures him confidently. “They will.”

After some needling from Jaskier, Geralt eventually gives in reluctantly, softening slightly when Jaskier sends him a triumphant grin. He doubts that this will work - after all, his armour will likely be too big for Jaskier, and Jaskier’s frivolous, vibrant clothes will undoubtedly be too small for him, but Geralt always gives in to Jaskier in the end. It won’t work, but Geralt might as well let Jaskier indulge for a few moments. 

They turn their backs to one another as they strip off their clothes to swap with each other, and Geralt can’t stop his eyes from wandering over to Jaskier. Jaskier’s doublet is strewn on the ground, and when he pulls his shirt over his head, Geralt’s mouth goes dry.

Jaskier’s back is unexpectedly broad, the strength evident in the width of his shoulders, and Geralt sucks in a breath as Jaskier bends over to take off his trousers, his firm bottom directly in Geralt’s view, and as Jaskier pushes his trousers down, Geralt gets an eyeful of thighs that are thick with muscle, built up over long hours of walking, and strong, shapely calves.

Geralt hurriedly whips his head around, his face heating up suddenly. 

Well. That had certainly been unexpected. 

Where had Jaskier been hiding _all_ of that?

Geralt keeps his mind on taking his own clothes off, determinedly _not_ thinking about the sight he’d just seen. When Jaskier’s clothes land next to him with a thump, Geralt tosses his own armour over his shoulder, and it takes every ounce of his willpower to not turn around and catch another glimpse of that expanse of tantalising skin. 

Picking up Jaskier’s cream-coloured shirt and sky blue trousers, Geralt eyes them dubiously, reluctant to put them on. They’re rather too bright for his taste, and Geralt fears that he might accidentally rip Jaskier’s clothing - though after what he’d seen earlier, that doesn’t seem to be the case. 

Geralt gingerly pulls the sky blue trousers on, grimacing inwardly at the way the too-bright colour stands out against his pale skin. To his surprise, his legs slide in without much resistance, and he barely has to struggle for the trousers to fit, with the trousers only squeezing his calves and his ass the slightest bit. 

He hadn’t expected to be able to squeeze into Jaskier’s trousers, and certainly hadn’t expected them to fit so well. They’re slightly short on him, though not by much, since he and Jaskier are nearly of height, and Jaskier’s trousers don’t fit that much tighter than his own. 

Less tentative now, Geralt pulls on Jaskier’s shirt. Like the trousers, it’s a slightly tight fit, particularly around the chest and shoulders, but not tight enough to be uncomfortable, and looking down at himself, Geralt finds himself once again surprised at just how well Jaskier’s clothes fit him. 

Behind him, Jaskier lets out a teasing whistle. “Well, would you look at that lovely bottom.”

Groaning, Geralt turns around. “Jaskier, why -” He chokes on his own spit when he sees Jaskier before him, decked out in black leather. “Unf.”

The armour fits well. Very well. Unlike what Geralt had expected, the armour doesn’t hang loosely off Jaskier’s body but hugs it perfectly, fitting almost as well as Jaskier's own tailored clothes. The bulk of Geralt’s armour only serves to make Jaskier seem more broad, a hulking, dangerous presence. 

Geralt had thought that his armour would hang from Jaskier’s shoulders in an unflattering way, too loose to be practical, practically drowning him in fabric. Instead, the armour clings to Jaskier’s body in all the right ways, drawing Geralt’s eyes to the wide expanse of Jaskier’s shoulders and the thickness of his biceps. Geralt’s trousers are pulled taut over Jaskier’s thighs, the strength in them clearly visible through the tight fabric. 

For a moment, Geralt sees another witcher looking back at him, broad-shouldered and strong, ready to take down the monsters that roam the Continent, but the illusion is shattered when Jaskier sends him a slow, lazy grin. 

“Well, it seems that you’re wrong,” Jaskier purrs, prowling towards Geralt, and he makes quite a sight, looming and lethal as he approaches Geralt, and Geralt has to swallow down an involuntary gulp. Gods preserve him. “Our clothes fit each other quite well. _Extremely_ well.”

His eyes rake down the length of Geralt’s body, something almost hungry sparking in his gaze as it lingers on the way his shirt is stretched just slightly too tight around Geralt’s chest, the way his blue trousers cling to Geralt’s legs and ass, and Geralt had to fight the urge to hide himself from a look so predatory that he feels as if he’s being sized up for a meal.

“Yeah, um, yes,” Geralt stammers, and why is he stammering? He tries again, grasping for words that elude him with every second he’s graced with the sight of Jaskier in his armour. “Hm. I - yes.”

“Yeah?” Jaskier’s eyes are sparkling, and Geralt gets the distinct impression that Jaskier is laughing at him. 

“We, uh - your plan worked,” Geralt mumbles. He wants to avert his gaze, wants to duck his head in embarrassment, but his eyes refuse to leave Jaskier, desperately drinking him in. “We can, uh…”

Jaskier chuckles. “Let’s head into the village then. Better not waste any time.”

“Yes,” Geralt says faintly, watching as Jaskier heads over to where Geralt’s swords are laid out. “Uh, right. Can you, uh, lift them?”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow, bending down and reaching for the swords, and sweat beads at Geralt’s temple as the tight leather trousers pull tight around Jaskier’s ass. “Lift them? Of course I can, my dear witcher - or my dear _bard_ , I should say - they’re not that heavy.”

He closes his hands around each sword, one steel and one silver, hefting them thoughtfully in his hands. Geralt realises with a start that Jaskier is holding his swords like he knows what to do with them, like he’s _fought_ with swords before. Jaskier keeps surprising him today, it seems.

Jaskier slides the swords into the sheaths on his back with practised ease, then grins at Geralt. “Well, my darling bard, shall we?”

 _My darling bard_ , Jaskier purrs with a low tone that makes Geralt’s too-slow heart beat just a little too fast, and Geralt swallows at how easily Jaskier refers to him as _his_. 

“W - what?” Gods, he really _is_ distracted, and Jaskier smirks at him. 

“We need to take the contract, Geralt,” Jaskier reminds him, amusement dancing across his face. “Come on, grab my lute, and we can go.”

“Right,” Geralt mutters, turning away to hide the way his cheeks are burning. The weather is really quite hot today. Reaching for Jaskier’s lute, he slings it over his shoulder the way he’s watched Jaskier do thousands of times, and heads towards Roach, getting ready to leave. 

“You look good as a bard,” Jaskier murmurs, and Geralt startles, turning back to look at him in surprise. Jaskier winks at him, and surely Geralt’s eyes must be deceiving him, because Jaskier has that glint in his eye when he flirts with young men and women that catch his fancy - now, that glint and _that wink_ are directed at Geralt, and gods, the weather is _really hot_. Maybe he should go take a dip in a stream later. 

Maybe he can even ask Jaskier to join him, and watch as water drips down his body, the droplets clinging to the bare lines of his muscles, and _why the fuck is Geralt even thinking this?_

Shaking the tempting image from his mind, Geralt croaks out, “We should. Uh. Let’s go.” 

His face still feels too hot as he clambers on Roach, resolutely _not_ looking at Jaskier as they set out towards the town. Despite his efforts, images of Jaskier’s body bombard his mind - his wide back, his strong thighs, his shapely ass, and Geralt has to make a concentrated effort to stay on Roach. 

Though it wouldn’t be a hardship if he were to fall off Roach and have Jaskier catch him in those strong, thick arms -

And Geralt needs to _get a fucking grip_. One look at his surprisingly muscular friend and now it’s all he can focus on. 

When they finally arrive at the village, Geralt is beyond grateful for something else to distract his thoughts from how they’re spiralling into increasingly inappropriate territory. Jaskier is his travelling companion, his _best friend_ , for gods’ sake, Geralt shouldn’t be thinking this about him. 

The villagers bristle with thinly veiled hostility as they pass, glaring at Jaskier, and Geralt hunches his shoulders and ducks his head, doing his best to hide his eyes, but no one pays him any mind. Their eyes slide over Geralt’s colourful clothing and lute to rest hatefully on Jaskier, who strides on with a blank mask on his face, unbothered by their stares, looking every part a dangerous, deadly witcher. 

Geralt can practically touch the hostility that thrums in the air, his enhanced hearing catching snatches of _witcher_ and _mutant_ and _butcher_ , and he grudgingly admits that Jaskier was right - had they not swapped their clothes, Geralt would’ve been chased out of the village for being the Butcher of Blaviken. While the town is clearly not welcoming towards witchers, they’re likely making an exception for any witcher who isn’t Geralt.

They head into the village’s biggest tavern, and Geralt hangs back as Jaskier stalks up to the man who’d put out the contract, listening to the details of the monster - a few nekkers, nothing too dangerous - as Jaskier negotiates payment far more skilfully than Geralt could ever have done. After a few minutes, Jaskier returns to Geralt, and they leave the tavern with distrustful gazes on their backs.

“It doesn’t sound like a big nest,” Geralt murmurs, just loud enough for Jaskier to hear. “Let’s deal with it and get out of here.”

“How did you - ah, witcher hearing, yes, silly me.” Jaskier scans their surroundings warily. “If we get changed in the forest, you can take care of them and then we can change back, collect our gold, buy what we need, and leave. No one will even suspect anything.”

Geralt frowns as Jaskier steers them in the direction of the forest. “But the nest is in the forest, it might not be safe -”

“It’ll be fine,” Jaskier dismisses, waving a hand. “We’ll just make sure to be quick.”

Geralt wants to disagree, but he keeps his mouth shut as they head into the forest, trying to tell himself that it’ll be fine. After all, it’s not like the nest will be _that_ close to the village anyway. They’ll be fine.

“We just need to be far enough from the village that no one sees,” Jaskier says cheerfully as they wander deeper into the forest. “Then you can go do your witchering -”

Then Geralt feels a rumble beneath his feet, and he barely has the time to shout out Jaskier’s name before several nekkers burst from the ground, surrounding them.

“Fuck!” Geralt curses. He’s not in armour, his sword is with Jaskier, who’s too far away for Geralt to get to in time, and Jaskier is drawing the silver sword, what the fuck is he _doing_ -

Two nekkers leap at Jaskier, and even as Geralt raises his hand to cast Aard, he knows it’s too late to stop them from tearing into Jaskier - but then Jaskier dodges them easily, slashing Geralt’s sword through the air, decapitating one of the nekkers, and Geralt’s jaw drops at the skill and speed with which Jaskier handles his sword.

Geralt doesn’t have much time to stare in shock, however, as he detects a few nekkers trying to ambush him from behind, and he casts Aard to blast them back. He has his signs, at least, and with the nekkers pushed away from him, he quickly glances towards Jaskier just in time to see him run his sword through a nekker’s chest, then duck under a swipe from another nekker, rolling up behind it to deliver a deadly gash to it with his sword, and just like that, Jaskier has dispatched all the nekkers that had surrounded him.

Something _burns_ in Geralt at the sight of Jaskier in _his_ armour, wielding _his_ swords, easily holding his own against a pack of monsters, and Geralt pushes it to the side for the moment. He has no time for distractions.

“Jaskier,” he calls, his hands ready to cast a sign as he watches the nekkers from earlier recovering from Aard, and Jaskier, as always, understands what Geralt wants before he says it, and tosses the sword to Geralt.

Geralt catches it just in time to slash his sword across a nekker’s throat, leaving one nekker snarling viciously at him. It lunges at him, and Geralt dodges its attack, swinging his sword and managing to catch it in the throat, but he’s so preoccupied with it that he doesn’t notice the shift in the air behind him until it’s too late.

Geralt braces himself for the pain of deadly claws digging into his back, but nothing comes, and he turns to see Jaskier standing behind him, Geralt’s steel sword in his hand as the head of a nekker thuds to the ground.

“You’re welcome,” Jaskier says, only sounding slightly out of breath. “Well, wouldn’t you say that this contract has gone rather swimmingly?”

Geralt can’t answer, unable to formulate a response as he stares at Jaskier, standing before him with a triumphant smile, Geralt’s sword in his hand and Geralt’s clothes on his body, and well, Geralt had always been rather attracted to competence, and what Jaskier had done…

“You can. Fight?” Geralt stutters dumbly, tongue like lead in his mouth as his mind replays the last few minutes of Jaskier swinging his sword with an expertise that few can match, of how Jaskier had managed to hold his considerably heavy sword far longer than most humans can, of the way Jaskier’s thighs had tensed underneath those tight trousers when he’d crouched before lunging at the nekkers.

Jaskier shrugs, the movement drawing Geralt’s gaze to the breadth of his shoulders as he slides the steel sword back into its sheath in one smooth motion. “You sound surprised.”

“I… didn’t know,” Geralt says slowly. Since when has Jaskier been able to fight?

“I never told you, because you never asked,” Jaskier admits with a rueful smile. “It was worth the look on your face, though. You still look rather dumbstruck, my bard.”

Geralt opens and closes his mouth a few times. “I…”

Jaskier’s eyes gleam, and he stalks towards Geralt with predatory intent, mouth curling in a lazy grin. “Why, Geralt,” he purrs, stopping just in front of Geralt. He reaches out and captures Geralt’s chin in one hand, forcing his gaze up from where it had been wandering down Jaskier’s body. “You like this, don’t you?”

“Like what?” Geralt manages, held in place by the force of Jaskier’s gaze, their faces too close together for Geralt’s brain to work properly.

Jaskier laughs. “You do,” he murmurs, and for a moment, Geralt holds his breath, waiting for _something_ -

But then Jaskier steps away, releasing his grip on Geralt’s chin, and some part of Geralt mourns the warmth. “Let’s go,” Jaskier says, casual as ever, like he hadn’t been pressed close to Geralt just a moment ago. He starts walking back to town, leaving Geralt staring after him, frozen in place.

He doesn’t move for several moments, blinking at Jaskier’s retreating back, and his eyes involuntarily wander downwards, appreciating the way his own tight trousers do _wonders_ for accentuating Jaskier’s thick thighs and firm ass. It’s only when Jaskier turns his head back to look at Geralt with a raised eyebrow that Geralt is pulled out of his trance, realising that his mouth had fallen open rather embarrassingly when he’d been ogling Jaskier’s assets.

“You coming?” Jaskier calls, and there’s something teasing in his voice, a quirk in his smile that hints at a promise of _more_ , a whisper of _later_ , and Geralt’s breathing stutters.

As he stumbles after Jaskier, who’s still clad in Geralt’s armour and looking unfairly good as he struts in front of Geralt, all he can think is, _gods, he’s going to kill me_.


	2. Chapter 2

As Geralt follows Jaskier back to the village, he hangs back, and if he’s doing it for the glorious view in front of him, well, that’s no one’s business but his. 

Those tight leather trousers really bring out Jaskier’s considerable assets, hugging Jaskier’s thighs and ass and highlighting every flex of muscle as he walks. Clearly, walking beside Roach for hours every day has done wonders for Jaskier’s legs, and Geralt stares, unable to tear his eyes away, gulping as he takes in the strength of those thighs, wondering how hard they would be able to squeeze -

Suddenly, the thighs stop moving, and Jaskier’s amused voice reaches his ears. “Geralt, are you alright? You seem rather… preoccupied.”

Geralt jerks his gaze upwards to meet Jaskier’s twinkling blue eyes. “Uh?”

Then he realises that his mouth is hanging wide open, possibly about to drool, and he quickly snaps it shut, looking away. He _really_ needs a dip into a river later. Preferably a very cold river. 

“You good?” Jaskier asks, turning around and stepping towards him, and for a moment, Geralt mourns the loss of that wonderful view of his behind, until he’s faced with Jaskier’s chest, made broader by the bulk of Geralt’s armour.

“Hm. Yes. Um.” Geralt struggles valiantly to keep his eyes on Jaskier’s face. “Let’s. Keep going?”

“If you’re sure.” Jaskier's lips are tilted in a smirk, unfairly red lips that Geralt wants to punch. With his mouth. _Fuck_ , what is he thinking? “Do you want to walk next to me, or do you want to follow, ah, behind?”

Geralt grunts. Jaskier has totally picked up on his not-so-subtle staring, and Geralt speeds up to walk next to Jaskier, determined not to get caught out again, and Jaskier huffs a low laugh that sends pleasant shivers up Geralt’s spine. He resolutely ignores the warmth radiating from Jaskier’s bulk as they walk side by side, Jaskier silent for once as they trace their steps back to the village.

Without the distraction of Jaskier’s chatter, Geralt’s mind wanders once again. He recalls Jaskier cutting down the nekkers with expert ease, wielding Geralt’s sword like it’s an extension of himself, swinging the sword through the air with a savage grin on his face. Gods, Jaskier’s strength and unexpected skill with a sword - Geralt used to think that Jaskier was a bumbling bard who relied wholly on Geralt to protect him, who had little strength to speak of, but the past few hours had proved him so utterly wrong.

And he has never been more glad to be wrong. Jaskier’s strength and competence with a sword is an absolutely delightful revelation.

When they reach the village, Jaskier’s stance changes, his shoulders going back and his head tilting upwards, his face schooling into a stoic mask as he falls back into the part of a witcher, and it shouldn’t be as hot as Geralt finds it. Geralt follows him as he stalks into the tavern - no, he _struts_ , hips swaying just so, bringing Geralt’s attention, once again, to his shapely ass. He struts like he wants to conquer the world, like he’s challenging anyone to stand up to him, projecting an aura of danger that Geralt is inexplicably attracted to.

He looks away, cheeks burning. Yes, he’s only just realised that Jaskier has a rather - fine physique, but that doesn’t give Geralt the right to - to ogle him. Jaskier has always been attractive, and Geralt has always admired him - objectively, of course - and there’s no reason that this new development should fluster Geralt as much as it does.

Not that he’s _flustered_. He has more composure than that. He’s simply shocked, that’s all. All these years of travelling with Jaskier and he hadn’t noticed - he’s simply ashamed of his own lack of observational skills, nothing more. 

His denial sounds flimsy even to himself.

Once Jaskier has collected the payment, they fetch Roach and head out of the village, a silent consensus between them to travel a good distance from it before they change back, during which Geralt tries to contain his thoughts and wrestle them back into _appropriate best friend_ territory.

Because Jaskier is his best friend, and he definitely doesn’t look at Geralt like that, and Geralt _shouldn’t_ be looking at Jaskier like that.

“We’re far enough,” Geralt grunts, pulling Roach to a halt. They’ve travelled a fair distance from the village, far enough that no one should be following them, and they’re obscured by the trees if anyone does pass by. “We should. Change.”

He dismounts Roach and finds himself face to face with Jaskier, who’s standing right in front of him, arms crossed, and Geralt may be a witcher, but even his immense self control can’t stop him from sneaking a glance at the way Jaskier’s crossed arms emphasise the thickness of his biceps, pushing his chest up. 

“You know, Geralt,” Jaskier begins, eyes trailing over Geralt’s face before dipping lower, and when he continues, his voice is raspy. “I couldn’t help but notice you looking at me… quite a lot today.”

Jaskier’s gaze burns through Geralt’s body, lighting him up, and he looks away. “Hm.”

“Oh, don’t _hm_ me, my dear bard.” A gloved finger presses against Geralt’s cheek, forcing his face back to look straight at Jaskier. “Did you think I didn’t notice? You weren’t exactly subtle.” 

There’s laughter in his voice, and something else too, something that Geralt has heard Jaskier use before, but never directed at him. He swallows audibly, and Jaskier’s gaze drops to his throat for a second before flicking back up, blue eyes bright and piercing.

“I -” Geralt’s voice is hoarse, and he clears his throat. “I wasn’t.”

“Oh, you totally were,” Jaskier murmurs with a slow grin. He takes a step closer to Geralt, the movement slow and deliberate. “If I’d known wearing your armour would get you to look at me like _this_ , I would’ve suggested swapping clothes long ago.”

“Like… like what?” Geralt’s heart pounds loudly in his ears, and Jaskier is too close and not close enough.

“Like you want to eat me alive,” Jaskier murmurs, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and Geralt stares. “Like you want to take your armour off me, piece by piece.”

Geralt’s mouth opens and closes, but only a faint, strangled noise comes out, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a pleased grin.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purrs, and then he’s pressed against Geralt, all that bulk and muscle fitted under Geralt’s black armour, all that warmth _right there_. “Do go ahead.”

Geralt is frozen, his mind barely processing Jaskier’s invitation, and when he doesn’t move, Jaskier sighs fondly and cups his cheek with a gloved hand.

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he murmurs, searching Geralt’s eyes. When Geralt lets out something akin to a strangled whine, Jaskier’s proximity turning his brain to mush and making his head spin, Jaskier chuckles and leans in.

The kiss starts slow and tender, Jaskier’s lips slightly chapped as he presses his mouth to Geralt’s. Then Geralt’s brain catches up to what’s happening, realising that Jaskier is _kissing_ him, that Jaskier is pressed against him and cupping his face with gentle hands, and Geralt deepens the kiss, placing his hands on that broad chest.

When Jaskier pulls away, breathing quick and shallow, his eyes are dark, his lips swollen. “You like seeing me in your armour, huh?” 

Geralt _more_ than likes it. Maybe he should just let Jaskier wear his clothes all the time, which would make their travels far more interesting, and far more torturous on Geralt’s end.

“I like _you_ ,” he blurts out, and flushes at the too-honest words.

Jaskier’s eyes widen, and Geralt is about to retract his statement when Jaskier beams, delight spreading across his face, and he leans in again, pressing a soft kiss to the edge of Geralt’s mouth. “I like you too, sweetheart,” he whispers, breath hot against Geralt’s skin, and Geralt shudders. “I like you _a lot_.”

“Mmf.” His face is burning. “You - uh. I. You look good.” Apparently, Geralt’s brain has lost its filter, but when Jaskier’s gaze turns smouldering, he can’t really complain.

“Good, huh? Care to tell me more?”

“You look good in my clothes.” Geralt’s mouth is running, his thoughts spilling from his lips in an uncontrollable flood, unable to hold back his words under Jaskier’s heated gaze. “I like how my clothes fit you, I like how you fight -”

Jaskier crowds him back until his back hits a tree, trapping him between the tree and the solid bulk of Jaskier’s body, and then Jaskier is pressing him against the tree trunk and Geralt is gasping into the fierce, passionate kiss.

He lets his hands roam around Jaskier’s body, mapping the breadth of his chest and shoulders, relishing in the feeling of leather under his fingertips, and Jaskier presses impossibly closer, one hand bracing himself against the tree and the other dropping to rest on Geralt’s waist, sending a brand of heat through his body.

But it’s not enough, and Geralt finds himself tugging at the straps of his armour, desperate to get it off Jaskier, desperate to _see_ , and Jaskier breaks the kiss with a raspy laugh.

“Eager, aren’t we?”

Geralt only tugs more insistently, throwing a piece of the armour off to the side. There’s something enticing about taking his armour off piece by piece when it’s on Jaskier, and his hands shake slightly as he undoes the straps. Jaskier starts nosing at his neck, and he almost goes pliant, but his determination to see Jaskier bare in front of him keeps his hands from dropping, and finally, the last piece of armour falls away, and Geralt drinks in the magnificent sight.

Jaskier’s shoulders are wonderfully broad, and Geralt skates his hands over warm skin, marvelling at the strength in them. He slips his hands down, tangling his fingers in the dark hair that decorates Jaskier’s chest, hair that Geralt has only seen glimpses of through unbuttoned shirts, hair that Geralt now tugs at appreciatively. 

“Mm, like what you see?” Jaskier rumbles lowly, and Geralt doesn’t answer, showing his appreciation by pulling Jaskier into another kiss as he wraps his arms around Jaskier, hands roaming his large, muscled back.

Suddenly, Jaskier’s hands are underneath his thighs and Geralt is being lifted, his back still pressed against the tree, and he yelps, wrapping his legs instinctively around Jaskier’s waist, arms gripping tighter around Jaskier’s neck as his body lights up in arousal.

Holy _fuck_.

“What -”

Jaskier swallows his exclamation, and Geralt whimpers. He’s never been lifted before, certainly not with such ease, and there’s barely any strain in Jaskier’s breathing as he continues holding Geralt up, never breaking the kiss.

Gods, Jaskier is _strong_ , and it’s utterly thrilling.

Geralt lets his gaze trail downwards, appreciating the way Jaskier’s thick biceps bulge and flex as he bears Geralt’s weight easily, and he gives in to the urge to palm at Jaskier’s arms, trusting Jaskier not to drop him as he lets one hand fall from its grip around Jaskier to squeeze one strong bicep, enjoying the feeling of the muscles underneath his palm.

“My darling witcher,” Jaskier murmurs against Geralt’s lips. “As much as I like where this is going, perhaps we should move somewhere more comfortable.”

A rush of heat floods Geralt’s body, and he meets Jaskier’s eyes, fixed on him with something like hunger, and Geralt inhales sharply. 

He can’t wait to be _devoured_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... yes, i stopped it right before the smut, i'm sorry sdjfknsd bUT if you'd like a smutty sequel to this verse, [@buffskierights (KHansen on ao3) has written some very very nice smut!](https://buffskierights.tumblr.com/post/625102084530929664/weve-heard-of-buffjaskier-who-can-carry-geralt)
> 
> [this is the link to the sequel on tumblr](https://jaskicr.tumblr.com/post/625091289279578112/sequel-to-the-clothes-swap-featuring-buffskier-i), if you like this it would mean the world if you reblogged both of these posts!<3
> 
> (also yes i'm aware that i need to update the 'i am made of memories' series - it will come, i promise! i've just been caught up in writing buffskier and the geraskier marriage fic to write the next chapter, hopefully i'll be done with it soon!)

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr [@jaskicr](https://jaskicr.tumblr.com/), feel free to send in prompts or scream about buffskier!


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